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'Missing' is just 'missing';

craving to meet again,

craving to go back to the old days,

when maa sang us to sleep.

Now, we're stressed out.

Sleeping in maa's lap

morphed into sleeping with laptops;

waking up with startled gasps,

swatted by life as if we were bees and wasps.

Wondering of life hacks,

dreams of chilling out at shacks

thinking, always, about the things we lack:

old friends who had our backs,

and one of the tracks

that once made our minds rack

when our broken hearts would crack.

Now, scrolling through old chats,

teary-eyed, we exclaim "Grow up! Who does that?"

We rediscover our lost selves

and treat our feelings through cautious hazmats

wondered if life has on us spat!

Our eyes grow from shining to matte,

and our hopes and dreams go splat!

Holding melancholy, us poets sat

in nostalgia's arms

comntemplating life's unrolling as if it were death by combat;

death comes not at once

but in bits and pieces.

And, piece by piece we die;

trying to acquiesce the beasts that in our minds pry

so that at the darkest hour they rise,

with weaponised words and a sorry demise.

Alas! Little do we realize

that we've been living in the dark,

fighting ourselves, trying to find happiness

only to have nostalgia drive it away.

Lost in the realms of the past,

we dwell on the friendships that we thought would

forever last,

which didn't follow even to the quarter mast.

Now, we stand aghast,

shocked at the few who were steadfast,

wondering if it was all a farce,

and if every next 'friend' was simply an arse!

So, we killed the memories close to our hearts

little aware that avoiding love is a difficult art.

Shubham Bhattacharyya is 22, an IIITian, and a software engineer at MakeMyTrip who loves to travel and eat. He is extremely passionate about food, cooking, and music. He loves exploring different forms of art and is a geek following the Hakuna Matata ideology of life!